


Warzone

by Nerves



Category: 3Below (Cartoon)
Genre: Adult Content, Age Difference, Aged-Up Character(s), Alien Culture, Alien Gender/Sexuality, Alien Sex, Alternate Universe - Arranged Marriage, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Extremely Dubious Consent, Forced Marriage, Harems, Incest, Morando Harem, Multi, Other, POV Alternating, Political Alliances, Psychological Trauma, Sibling Incest, Soulmates, Stockholm Syndrome, non-binary characters
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-25
Updated: 2019-05-19
Packaged: 2019-09-24 22:57:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,054
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17109749
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nerves/pseuds/Nerves
Summary: There came a point in the wars where there seemed to be only one option: an uneasy alliance. With pretty promises made and new homes left behind, the alliance is made in the form of bonds unbreakable and peace reigns at last. According to Akiridians across the empire, the war is over - but for four individuals, it is clear that the war is only just beginning.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is a very loose idea that has been stuck in my head since I first watched 3below, and I needed to get it out. The style of this will be very freeform. 
> 
> **_TRIGGER WARNING!!!_**  
>  This story contains abuse, dubcon/noncon, incest between Aja and Krel, and just general grossness. The rating on this may change depending on what the other three installments include, but in general this story should be considered for adults only. If you are not an adult, please do not read this. Thank you!

****_The war is over._

These words heralded them in upon their return to Akiridion-5, battered and bruised and weary from the long, long journey on which they had found themselves for the last several keltons. The words ring throughout the streets, sounded out by joyous voices grateful that the long and bloody conflict they all have endured is at last over. The words are sung out as triumphant and jubilant in every corner of the empire, they’re written and heard and read and pondered over and over and over again, repeated by millions of mouths until they’re true.

_The war is over._

The ship that Morando had sent to pick them up had not exploded during the journey to Akiridion-5 which Vex takes as a good sign, but he still feels tension tightly coiled within him. He does not trust Morando as far as he can throw him, but the former general had at least seemed reasonable when they had met in the neutral zone - apologetic, even. Nevertheless, Vex had warned the Tarrons that it was likely a trick, but a deal had been made and so far Morando had made good on his word. _For now_ , Varvatos thinks grimly, looking across the ship at where his beloved royals sit.

The siblings are silent as they have been for the last several delsons, simply sitting together in quiet contemplation with their hands clasped together. They both look older, more tired - and they are. Their time on earth with its strange and tragic inhabitants had aged them more than any of them had expected, the constant fear of death looming overhead and the never ending conflict taking its toll on them. Vex watches as Krel turns his face towards Aja and nuzzles into the crook of her neck, something deeply sad in the soft movement. Their guardian feels a swell of emotion, and quickly looks back out of the window as the ship descends into the capital.

_COME TO THE GREATEST EVENT OF THE CERTON! TOMORROW AT THE FIFTEENTH HORVATH!_

He shudders as he sees the banner scrolling below a large projection of Vex’s beloved royals standing elegantly on either side of Morando, an oddly sterile image that had been captured during their stay in the neutral zone. He feels another chill as he remembers those delsons, the meetings between Morando and the four Tarrons that Vex had been forbidden from attending, and the grim faces that his royals had worn afterwards. His hands clench into fists at his side, and he squeezes his eyes shut so that he doesn’t have to look at the image any longer.

_The war is over._

“Everything is going to be okay, Varvatos.” Aja’s voice echoes across the cabin, kind and strong, and Vex opens his eyes to look at her once more. She smiles at him, and she’s able to make it seem so genuine that it breaks his heart all over again.

* * *

 

It doesn’t take long before Varvatos is in a room by himself, having no other option but to pace angrily. He had _known_ that Morando would do this, that he would pry them apart - he just hadn’t expected him to be forceful enough to be successful. _The royals need to get ready,_ the servants had told him gently while three Taylon held him back with serrators at the ready. _It’s a big day for them, and they need to regain their strength. Besides, King Morando wants to see you._ He had nearly spat at the ground upon hearing him referred to as _king_ , but he held himself back. Today is about making peace, after all, and though he has no intention of doing so he still has to go through the motions. _It’s as the king and queen wish._ He feels a surge of anger as he remembers the defeated looks on Fialkov and Coranda’s faces, and the betrayal he felt at their words.

The doors slide open, and in steps an imposing figure all dressed in royal regalia, flanked by two more Taylon. Varvatos almost spits at the ground again as he looks upon him, but he holds himself back and simply glowers at him while clenching his fist. “Welcome home, old friend,” Morando says, a smile on his face that is so friendly that it has turned ominous. “I trust you had a safe journey back, considering that you are all intact.” Varvatos turns to face him fully, standing to his full height in a show of strength.

“You are no friend of Varvatos,” he says, grinding his teeth. “And he will not hesitate to end you, should you make a move to harm the children.” Morando rolls all four of his eyes, sighing deeply.

“ _Varvatos_ will need to learn to hold his tongue if he wishes to see the royals ever again,” he retorts as he begins slowly walking towards the commander. “And the king and queen-to-be can hardly be called children anymore - you know that as well as I.” Varvatos cannot help but hear something sinister in the other’s tone, and he snarls.

“You were always glad to call them children when you were undermining the king and queen’s wishes. You only see them as adults now that it’s convenient for you.” Varvatos spits out the words, the corners of his mouth turned downward in disgust.

“I called them children when they were _children_ , Vex. It’s been three keltons - five if you are going by the rotation of Urth around its star.”

“It’s called _Earth_.”

“It doesn’t matter what it’s called because you’re never going to see that mud planet ever again,” Morando snaps. He takes a final step forward, bringing him within reach of Vex. “You are a fool if you think that this isn’t what the outcome was always going to be. Do not make the mistake of thinking that I have forgotten the part that _you_ played in all of this.” Varvatos feels a lurch in his abdomen, and he clamps his mouth shut tighter. As Morando stares down at him with those cold, sharp eyes, Vex finds himself unable to hold his gaze and instead looks down at the floor.

Morando smirks as he watches, and he reaches out, cupping the commander’s face in his hand. Vex flinches at his touch, but knows better than to strike his hand away. “Look at you - you used to be so blinded by your thirst for violence and revenge, but now you’re just blinded by foolish devotion.” He refuses to look at him, for he knows that if he does he will surely lash out. Morando strokes his gloved thumb across the flesh of Vex’s face, and it nearly makes him nauseous. “Fialkov did some very deep damage to you - to all _three_ of you.” He slides his hand around to the back of Vex’s neck, and leans his face in closer. “But do not fret, my dearest. I am going to _fix_ you,” he whispers, and Varvatos dares to look at him again. Those eyes are just as cold as they’ve always been.

Morando pulls back and turns away, looking out of the tall windows that are letting in the bright neon lights of the city. He pays no mind to the commander, simply clasping his hands behind his back as he gazes out at the projection that Vex had seen during their descent. His tall figure projected to be hundreds of feet tall seems somehow less imposing than the imposter king himself. “The bond you have with the king and queen-to-be is twisted, much like it was with their parents,” Morando says bluntly, not looking back. “Fialkov and Coranda may have tolerated it, but _I_ will not. The selfishness of the exiled royals’ Union has poisoned this empire for too long, and we must begin to fix it immediately.” He turns back to Varvatos while wearing that same cold, calculating look. “I am not so cruel as to keep you separated forever, but you will be apart for a number of parsons so that our Bonding can be completed without interference. Should you behave yourself during that time period, I will reunite you with the royals and you may continue your work as their guard.”

Varvatos stares at him, chilled to his very core. “And if Varvatos does not agree to this?” He asks, fingers twitching at his side. He wishes that he had a serrator with him so that he can plunge it into Morando’s core before the Taylon have a chance to stop him, before it’s all too late. Morando lets out a chuckle, showing off his sharp fangs. _He remembers the feeling of those against his neck, pricking at the living flesh while his hands pried apart Varvatos’ bodysuit._ He pushes the memory from his mind.

“Oh, you _will_ agree,” Morando purrs. “I know that they mean nearly as much to you as they mean to me.” Vex inhales sharply, and he cannot hold himself back.

“You do not _care_ about the royals - you insult both of them and Varvatos by implying that you do,” he growls. “You’re just _using_ them.”

“Silence!” Morando shouts, all humor gone from his face. “You know nothing of what I feel, nor what my intentions are. You _will_ hold your tongue, or I will hold it _for_ you.” Striding across the room, he passes by Varvatos with a glare, and then pauses in the doorway. “You are not welcome at the ceremony tomorrow. If you are caught there, I will pull your core from your chest and throw it in a stasis pod for thirty keltons. Do you understand?” Varvatos pauses, pushing down the rage before he speaks.

“Varvatos understands,” he grinds out. A beat passes before Morando speaks again.

“I will send for you when the time comes. Do not speak to either Aja or Krel without my permission.” He pauses again, looking over his shoulder at Varvatos. “In spite of everything it is... _good_ to have you home.”

 _Home._ Varvatos nearly laughs at the whole situation, but his face is too taut to smile and it’s only a matter of moments before Morando and the Taylon exit, leaving him alone with his thoughts.

* * *

 

_It had been late in their life on Earth that Aja had come to him in the middle of the night, tired and anxious. They had all been that way for so long, tired from being hunted by their own villains, and facing off against those of the Earthlings as well. Varvatos often thought that both of the royals were too kind and too self-sacrificing for their own good, but Aja particularly so. She gave so much of herself without asking for anything in return, a kind of nobility in her that would have marked her for true royalty even if she were not marked by virtue of her birth._

_There are cracks in her facade, however. Varvatos has seen them for keltons, and tried to help her as best as he can. When she came to him that night, there was something in the look on her face that made him uneasy. “What's wrong, princess?” he had asked, although he had a feeling that it didn't matter. She said nothing, just peeled off her clothes and climbed atop him. He had wanted to tell her to stop, that it was wrong, that he was not high enough in station and besides that fact he was her_ **_guardian_ ** _, it was inappropriate - but with four hands soft yet strong gliding over his body and a look on her face that spoke of a deep sorrow that they all knew far too well, he couldn't say a word._

Varvatos watches now as the ceremony unfolds on the screen before him, the drink on the bar before him left untouched. The bar is nearly empty with just him, the bartender, and two other patrons, one of which is watching the holoscreen with great interest while the other is asleep. He feels his gut twisting in that unpleasant way that it had been for parsons now, subconsciously expecting the worst before it ever arrives. He watches as Aja and Krel ascend the dias hands in hands, both of them dressed in royal finery that suits them so well. They look so much like their parents in this moment, and his chest feels tight at the thought.

And then, as it does, the worst arrives in the form of a life being that Vex regrets not killing keltons ago. Morando ascends the dais to stand with the two Tarrons likewise dressed in finery, although on him it seems perverse in spite of his noble birth. He stands imposing above them, nearly appearing twice their height - but neither of his royals show trepidation on their faces, their skills at diplomacy on full display for all the empire to see. _A show of strength and courage._ It’s admirable, and he feels a swell of pride in spite of himself - but he doesn't know how they manage to look so calm in the face of impending disaster. _Maybe this is okay,_ he thinks, trying to convince himself that it's true. _Perhaps Varvatos had it all wrong, and Morando really does have their best interests at heart._ But as he watches the former general join hands with the Tarrons, a deceptively polite smile on his face, he finds his hand closing tightly around his cup until it crumples in his hand.

It would be a beautiful ceremony if the situation were not so ugly.

* * *

When Varvatos finds himself alone in the room he has rented out, he tries hard not to think about the ceremony. It had been as expected, decadent and excessive in a show of power and wealth, but when he recalls the lowering of the dais into the underground chamber that took Morando and the royals out of sight he finds himself imagining what is transpiring in the _true_ ceremony. The public face was all a formality after all, with the true test being how their cores behave after being stitched together. He doesn't sleep that night, quite like the majority of the empire. Fialkov and Coranda had had a particularly difficult bonding, thirteen delsons passing before they finally stabilized. That knowledge looms large and heavy, and the air is thick with the question of if it will be the same for their children and the monster which had destroyed everything the exiled king and queen had worked so hard to build.

No one wants to speak aloud the fear that when the empire wakes Aja and Krel and Morando will be dead, but it is on every Akiridian’s mind.

Varvatos holds in the overwhelming surge of emotion that he feels as he stares blankly at the wall, the hurt within him so terrible and so deep that he feels as if he's drowning. He thinks of the true ceremony, of how they're all lying in a row with their cores exposed and their pained cries choked out by the bits in their mouths, of the way that if they survive that afterwards when they’re all put back together Morando will be expected to hold the two of them close and stroke their hair and they’ll be Bonded to each other for all eternity in a way that Varvatos will never be, that he never would have been _permitted_ to be, that soon it’ll be Morando that Aja will come to in the night with her suit peeled off and her chosen body on display for his disgusting hands to-

Varvatos swings at the wall, and the violence of the action sends sparks flying as he exposes the circuitry underneath the glass. Perhaps it’s a good thing they’re not bonded, because now Vex’s blood drips down onto the floor in blue splashes and he can’t stand the thought of it belonging to either of his precious royals, the ones who he loved more than anything, the ones that he would die for a thousand times. To think that he would now have to die for Morando as well is the greatest irony that Varvatos had never anticipated coming to fruition.

He does not sleep that night, and it is in the tenth horvath that the announcement comes, shouted through speakers across the city and displayed on banners for all to see.

_HISTORIC BONDING SUCCESS! UNPRECEDENTED CORE COMPATIBILITY AS THE NEW ROYAL UNION STABILIZES IN ONLY TWENTY-TWO HORVATHS! SEKLOS AND GAYLEN SMILE UPON THEIR BONDING._

His precious royals are somewhere dark and warm, cradled in the arms of the newly legitimized king, and it makes him sick to think of it.

* * *

 

The following parsons are long and difficult. Morando reaches out to Vex much more quickly than the commander had expected, but it is not to see his royals again. Rather, Morando is anxious to put Vex back to work, sending him out on missions with the Taylon Phalanx to keep him occupied while the new royal Union continues to strengthen. It will be important for the coming keltons that they form a unified front so that the goals of the Tarrons and their Bonded can be completed, and Vex knows this. Vex’s attachment to the Tarrons is a threat to the security of their society, and Morando cannot risk that - none of them can. Nevertheless, he feels the pit in his gut deepening the longer that he is away from his royals, their attachment waning in a way that is most painful.

The work that Morando sets him on is dirty work, chosen specifically as a test to see if Varvatos is as vicious as he once was. The rebellion has been a thorn in Morando’s side for keltons, a Tarron loyalist movement determined to see his destruction. The rebellion has largely disintegrated with the end of the war and the Union between the Tarrons and Morando, but a splinter cell turned against both Morando and his Bonded has made itself a nuisance. It is Varvatos’ task to uproot it and destroy it, and though gratitude awaits him upon his successful completion it feels like thankless work.

He’s elbow deep in the chest cavity of a dying rebel, his hand around her core when a Taylon messenger enters the chamber, carrying a missive from Morando. It is long and boring and littered with Morando’s usual demands and cutting comments, but there is one part that catches Varvatos’ attention and makes his chest swell. _One last thing - your presence is requested at the palace at your earliest convenience. The Tarrons await your return._

It’s been fourteen parsons since the Union between Morando and the Tarrons was formed, and for the first time in a very long time Varvatos feels joy. _Seklos and Gaylen, the war really is over._

The rebel finally finishes disintegrating as he crushes her core in his hand.

* * *

When Vex is lead into the private chambers of the royal Bonded, he finds himself disarmed by how charming it is, how comfortable. He had thought that surely Morando would be such a dominant force that he would remove all aspects of the Tarrons' personalities, but he can see Aja and Krel shining through nonetheless. When he enters the main suite, flanked by Taylon loyal to Morando, Krel is the first one that he sees. The new king springs up at soon as he sees Varvatos, grinning widely as he rather haphazardly drops the piece of tech that he had been fiddling with. "Varvatos!" he cries out, wrapping all four arms around him. "I missed you so much, you big lug!" His arms do not reach all the way around Vex's wide trunk, and it's with a pang of sadness that he thinks about how young and how small the royals are compared to their Bonded.

"Varvatos missed you too," he chuckles, wrapping his arms around Krel as well. He holds him close, and for the first time in an age he feels closer to being complete. He never wants to let him go, he wants to hold him here forever, protect him from the cruelty of the outside world that will surely destroy him if given the chance. He'll hold him close, keep him away from the tyrants cruel grasp, keep him safe, keep him-

Krel pulls back, stepping away to look at the commander, his hands resting on the top of Vex's forearms. "Have you been well? How is the insurgency? Have you snuffed it out yet?" He's taken aback by the king's words, and it shows on his face. Those are not the kinds of terms that Krel uses, and he feels a pang of nervousness as he hears them fall so casually from his lips.

"Not just yet, my royal, but rest assured that Varvatos will keep you safe from any danger," he says, sharply aware of the irony to his words.

"I'm sure you will, Varvatos," Krel laughs, squeezing his arms gently. As he looks up at the commander, the commander looks back and sees genuine affection in the boy's gaze. It's unsettling, but he cannot say that aloud. "Val says that you will be returning as our guard once you are done with your duties outside, is that true?" It takes Varvatos a moment to connect the name Val to the legitimized king, and he's taken aback when he puts them together. When was the last time that he had spoken to anyone who knew him as _Val?_

"Varvatos does not know much, my king," he says. "But he hopes that it is true."

"It _is_ true," says a voice from behind him, and with a start Varvatos turns to look at the source. King Morando stands in the doorway of an adjacent room, hands clasped behind his back and body clad in the most casual wear that Varvatos has ever seen him in. He's taken aback by it, nearly as much as he's taken aback by the friendly look that he wears on his features. It’s a queasy thing, the polite way that Morando holds himself when Vex knows the deep cruelty he’s capable of.

But even more than all of that, he’s taken aback when he sees Aja come out from behind the king, running one of her hands along his back as she does so. “Varvatos!” she greets with a warm smile, and strides over to him. His breath catches. She’s beautiful, vibrant, absolutely enchanting - and she’s nude, save for a translucent robe which looks to be made of ilon silk draped loosely over her shoulders. She approaches quickly, flinging all four of her arms around him in much the same way that Krel had, the robe falling free of her shoulders and drifting lazily to the ground. “It is so good to see you. We missed you so terribly.” His breath hitches, and he hold her tight with his hands on her back, cradling her as if she were far more delicate than she really is. The tips of his fingers smooth into the long divot down the center of her back, and he feels a lurch in his gut.

_She’s smooth, so smooth, so soft, and it nearly made him want to weep. This whole situation did, the way that she rode him, the way her fingers dug into the living flesh of his chest, the way that she squeezed her eyes shut as if she hated this as much as he did - but did he? Did he hate the shift in their relationship, or did he love the comfort of her energy buzzing directly against his, warm and vibrant in a way that only royals are? He held her close, and she felt like Fialkov against his skin. He groaned, wrapping his hands around her and feeling the smooth, smooth surface of her back, perfect as if she were forged from a single sheet of metal._

“I hope you’re just about done with those rebels. We could really use you here.” Pulling back, he looks down at her, and he sees the subtle changes - her eyes are a little further apart, a little bigger, her eyebrows more symmetrical. “Val is a riot for sure, but no one quite likes death and guts the way you do.” Even the curve of her mouth is different as she laughs, her face bright and open. She seems shorter, and yet so much more… _full_. With a feeling of alarm, he suddenly looks to Krel, and with dawning horror he picks out the differences in him too. He also is smaller, but seems stronger in a way. His neck is longer, as are his fingers, and there’s something about his face that’s just a bit off. “Varvatos?” He looks down at Aja, and when he sees those unfamiliar eyes staring up at him with concern, the panic sets in.

“I know this is strange, old friend, but I need to say it all the same.” Vex looks up, and Morando is suddenly much, much closer than he thought. He reaches out, placing a strong, firm hand on Varvatos’ shoulder just a bit closer to his neck than he would like. “We’ve missed you. Welcome home.”

_The war is over._


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, thanks for tuning in for the next installment of this little story! The more that I write of this and the more I think about it, the clearer it becomes to me that I would like to revisit this concept at greater length elsewhere. I do intend to finish this story as I originally planned it out, but I'm going to try to hold myself more to using it as a writing exercise rather than stressing out about the plotline of it. This chapter jumps around a little bit more in the timeline, and I suspect that the future chapters will do the same. Thank you so much to everyone who has provided feedback on the first part, I hope that this second part is satisfactory! As with the previous part, please mind the trigger warnings.

_Five parsons Bonded._

Ever since the Bonding, it is rare that Aja sleeps more than a few horvaths at night. It is unclear if it is the stress, or the change, or the simple fact that she’s older now, but frequently she wakes in the middle of the night while sandwiched neatly between her brother and Morando. She very quickly mastered the art of extracting herself from under her Bonded’s large arm without waking him or the smaller Tarron beside her, and now it is a simple part of their nightly routine, nothing to be concerned about. They recharge, they make love, Morando lectures, they sleep, Krel cries, Aja wakes in the early horvaths to brood - it’s all very natural.

As the fourth horvath comes awake, so does Aja. Morando’s hand rests on her hip, holding her both close and far enough away that neither of them are uncomfortable. It is a strange time for all of them, as is to be expected. Going from trying to kill someone to sharing your bed with them makes for a hard adjustment period, especially when the desire to kill doesn’t quite seem to be all the way gone. She shudders, pushing the thought away as she reaches down to push Morando’s hand off. The subtle vibrations of his flesh tell her that he is not asleep and is rather being polite to give her the illusion of solitude, and when she goes to move his hand he pulls it back for her. Silently grateful, she looks over her shoulder to see him still resting with his eyes closed, not acknowledging her. _It’s for the best._

Carefully picking her way over Krel, her feet find purchase on the cold floor, and she rights herself. She wears nothing, but she feels no shame. There is no room for shame in these chambers, not unless it is shame that _he_ has created. She crosses to the balcony, opening the door softly before stepping out and closing it behind her. The soft neon lights of the city below glow a sweet, sickly blue against her already blue skin, and she lets out a soft sigh as she takes her usual place near the edge, hand against the railing. She stands like that for a long, long time, still as a statue. She loves Akiridion-5, she loves her people, she loves Krel and she loves being able to do something good for this place that she loves - but she does not love being queen. The life of a queen is one of a sort of brutality that she does not understand, a life of being a subject although she is a ruler. A bitter chill runs through her, and she hugs herself to keep herself steady.

Aja hears the door slide open behind her, and she does not need to turn around to know that it is Morando. His presence is so overbearing that she could feel it from across the galaxy - if she were permitted to go that far away from him. “You still are not resting well, my queen,” he observes as he slides the door shut again. She glances over her shoulder at him, noting that he too has neglected to dress. He is not offensive to look at, but regardless of that fact she does not like looking at him. She turns her gaze forward again.

“A prison is not an easy place to rest.” There’s venom in her tone, but it lacks the bite that it so often does. Morando lets out a low purr as he moves to stand beside her at the edge, his large form towering over her. She would be frightened of his size if she weren’t so used to Vex, but it’s not important anyway. He gives her plenty of other reasons to be afraid.

“We all agreed to this,” he says as he rests his hand on the railing, and it’s as helpful as it was the first thirty times he’s said it. “Like it or not, this is what we must do for-”

“For the greater good,” she interrupts in spite of the dread that grips her spine, finishing his thought for him. “Yeah, I know.”

“It's rude to interrupt,” he says, but he does not sound angry yet. His rage is unpredictable, making it all the more frightening - and yet, she cannot help but 'poke the bear,’ as Eli might say. _Eli._ She misses him nearly as much as she misses Steve. The forced Bonding that she has with Morando and her brother feels like a perversion of the loving relationship that she had with the earthlings. _Fuck Morando. Fuck him for making us feel this way._

“It's rude to depose the royal family and then Bond into it while pretending it's an act of charity,” she retorts, avoiding his gaze though she can feel it burning into her. He inhales sharply, and she thinks that maybe that’s the final straw and he’ll throw her off the balcony - but he stays put, simply continuing to watch her with the same neutral look on his face. She feels a shudder run down her back.

“I don’t like this any more than you do.”

“Really? I find that very hard to believe with the way you _fondle_ us once the empire looks away.” She keeps her gaze forward, but she can see his hand tightening on the rail in the periphery.

“We _all_ agreed to this,” he repeats, his tone more sinister than it had been. “You know perfectly well that our Bond will be stronger if we are intimate.” Aja sneers at his use of the word _intimate_ as if what they do in the privacy of their chambers can be seen as vaguely romantic. He takes a step closer then, and she watches him closely out of the corner of her eye. He’s not reaching for her yet, but she can see the coil of muscle underneath the surface as he shifts. The way he stalks reminds her of a big cat, like the ones that she saw during her numerous outings (and occasional heist) to the zoo a couple of towns over from Arcadia.

“I know,” she says after a moment, hands class clenching into fists atop the rail. “But even _you_ have to admit that none of this feels good or natural.” He lets out a low rumble, and she can sense danger dawning. Her chest feels tight, a reaction that is all too human. He would laugh if he knew.

“Fialkov and Coranda made a mistake raising you the way they did,” he says. “The did a selfish thing by not opening their Bond, by deciding that they wanted to have a closed Union out of some stupid, misguided love. Their Union is weak because of it.”

“You only think that because they rejected you when you asked to Bond with them.” It's the wrong thing to say to keep the peace, but she's tired of keeping it. Morando lets out another rumble.

“Their cores are a disastrously poor match, and they almost died because of it. Although the wrong choice politically, they would have taken me down with them and I'm grateful that they did not.” She can feel him moving closer again. “The three of _us_ , however - our Bond is _historic_. That's what they called it - you remember.” She does. She does, and she loathes it. “That, my queen, is more than enough to tell me that this is the right choice.” She presses her lips into a firm line. She knows that he's right, as much as she resents it. The fact that they had the fastest and easiest Bonding in known history is a good omen for their alliance, and that alone makes it worthy of trying.

But she's doesn't _want_ to.

“Krel and I would have been just fine without you,” she says, louder than she meant. “And we will be, the moment we can unravel the thread and leave you to rot.” He's silent, and after an uncomfortable pause, she at last turns to look at him. The look on his face is terrifyingly calm, and she feels a pit in her gut. Finally, he parts his lips to speak.

“When your parents approached me to create the alliance, I was hesitant. I had known you as children, I had thought that you were still the  same idealistic, selfish dreamers that they taught you to be.” Another pause. “But I convinced myself otherwise for the good of all Akiridion, reminded myself that the two of you have grown and can think for yourselves now. I even told Varvatos this when he tried to speak ill of you.” Hearing his name come from Morando's mouth feels like a punch in the gut. “I see now that I was wrong.” He lowers his hand back to his side. “You might as well be a child with how selfish you are.”

He gives her a final cold stare before he turns and walks back into their chambers, closing the door gently behind him. Though he's gone, the weight of his words and his presence lingers, and Aja shudders.

* * *

_Five keltons before the coup._

“Who am I going to be Bonded to?”

Aja watches in the mirror as Coranda looks up, their gazes meeting in the reflection. The princess has said it casually enough, but her mother can see in her eyes that there is trepidation within her regarding the answer. The queen smiles at her, running her fingers over the bright, glowing strands of fabricated hair that she’s neatly arranged on the back of Aja’s head. “I don’t know, Aja,” she says, pinning back another section with a small, bright beam of energy. “There are still many keltons to go before you need to worry about something like that.”

“But do you and papa have them picked out?” She asks, this time a little more nervously. Coranda’s smile falters ever so slightly, almost slight enough that Aja can’t see it - almost. It does not put the princess at ease.

“No. As I said, it will be many keltons until you need to worry about such things.” Arranging the final locks, she smooths her hand over the thin bands of energy one final time before allowing it to fall to her daughter’s shoulder. “Are you asking because you're nervous about attending the ceremony today?” She asks. Aja looks away, nervously fiddling with the sleeve of her suit.

“Yes,” she says after a long silence. “Pavonir said that Bonding is dangerous, that they might die.” Coranda squeezes her shoulder gently, rubbing her thumb across the surface of her suit in a comforting gesture.

“They’re not going to die, Aja.” Standing up, she turns the princess’ chair so that they are facing one another. Crouching down, she looks her in the eyes and holds that same, pleasant expression. “Bonding is dangerous, yes, but the three of them have been preparing for this for a long time. They will be able to form a strong Union that will benefit all of Akiridion.” Aja looks at her mother pensively for a long moment before she speaks again.

“What kind of person will I Bond with?” She asks, and then hurriedly adds “When the time comes.” Coranda sighs, shaking her head ever so slightly though she still smiles.

“You are incorrigible, Aja,” she laughs, beginning to fuss with the front of her daughter’s hair. “It all depends on the political climate and the needs of Akiridion.” Aja watches her mother’s face, looking for any hidden meaning, but Coranda betrays none. “If an alliance is needed, perhaps a queen or a king or some other planetary ruler.” Grasping the collar of Aja’s tunic, she smooths it up so that it looks perfect. “If I had to guess, I would say that most likely you will bond with a military officer, like a general.” She brushes a wrinkle free from the tunic, moving her hand across to eradicate another.

“Like General Morando?”

Coranda’s hand freezes, and she looks back up into her daughter’s eyes. She pictures the general then, with his imposing frame and his sly smile and his cutting wit and his very body made of trophies from his campaigns of destruction that he has wrought, and she feels her core vibrating erratically in her chest.

_“I fear that trouble approaches, Coranda.” She turned her gaze upwards as Fialkov spoke to her, his gaze distant as he looked out past the horizon._

_“What do you fear, my Bonded?” She asked, placing her hand on his primary arm. He did not even glance back at her._

_“A jilted general with a thirst for violence.” His words sent a shudder down her spine. “Val came to me last night, speaking of the need for war.” Visions of conflict flashed before her eyes, cores pulverized into dust before her very eyes by hands so enormous that they could easily crush her head just as easily if they so desired. She saw him there in front of her, remembering the grin on his face as he plunged his hand into her chest, pulling her core free from the strands of energy that held it inside of her fabricated body. She pulled herself back out of the memory, and into the present with the person whom she had been given to as a prize._

_“And what will you do about him?” She asked after a time, her other hands clenched into fists. He fell silent, a faint breeze the only sound as it blew past. At long last, he spoke._

_“Whatever it will take to keep the peace.”_

Her mouth presses into a thin line, and she forces herself not to grimace.

“Yes, perhaps someone like General Morando,” she says, forcing her voice to remain neutral. Aja nods thoughtfully, looking at some point past her mother. Coranda cups her daughter’s face in her upper hands, tilting it back towards her. “Do not worry about things like that, Aja,” she says, more concerned about convincing herself more than her daughter. “There is still quite some time to go before we need to make any decisions like that.”

_But perhaps not as much time as we would like._

* * *

_Twenty three delsons until the return._

Krel has already started protesting, making a scene as he paces around the room, but Aja finds that she cannot say anything at all. She cannot bring herself to look at any of the figures standing around the room for fear that they'll see the terror in her eyes, the bubbling anxiety in her chest.

“You _can't_ make an offer like that, we deserve to have a say!” His voice sounds so desperate as it rings out against those walls, trying to convince their father to make a different choice than he's going to. It makes him sound so naive, and Aja would feel so very sad about it were she not so empty.

“Hold your tongue, Krel. Such behavior is not kingly.” Her father's voice has been so cold here in the neutral zone, and it's hard not to think his tone callous and cruel. Something about this place has drained away what little was left of their kindly father, the person they remember from their early life.

“I don't care if it's kingly or not, you can't treat us like this!” She can see their mother tensing in the periphery of her vision, leaning forward to speak.

“Krel, my love, please just-”

“How can you go along with something like this, mama?” Krel demands, and as Aja finally works up the courage to look at him, she can see coreslick in the form of tears leaking down his cheeks - a strange liquid that the both of them now produce more regularly than they would have expected, a byproduct of a world that they very well may never see again.

_I wish Varvatos were here._

“This is the way of our culture, Krel,” Coranda says, but her core isn't in it. Aja finally looks at her, and sees the way that she nervously looks to Fialkov. “Your father and I Bonded for political purposes, it's the way that things have been done for generations upon generations.” Krel presses his lips into a thin line, and she can see that he's trying not to cry more than he already is.

“So you're saying that as the royal heirs of Akiridion, we are little more than bargaining chips for the greater good.” He says it so matter-of-factly, but the pain in his voice cannot be disguised. “We're your _children_ , but you're treating us like-”

“Cattle.” Aja doesn't realize that she's spoken until she sees all three of her family members turn to look at her. She almost feels sheepish, but her capacity for emotion is stunted. Fialkov and Coranda might not be familiar with what exactly cattle is, but from the looks that they wear on their faces it is evident that her meaning is clear. She opens her mouth to speak again. “We're cattle.”

“Oh, Aja…”

“No, I understand,” she continues, looking back down at her hands absently. “Just as you and papa Bonded to stop a war, so must we.”

“Aja!” There is a sense of betrayal in Krel's voice, and she tries not to let it sting. She looks at him, trying not to think too much about the pain in his eyes.

“Krel, they're right. This is what we must do,” she says. She's surprised that she can keep her voice so even. “We can’t run forever, he’s just going to keep hunting us. Besides, he _needs_ us - he wouldn’t have reached out this way if he didn’t.” Krel’s mouth is still pressed into a hard line, and she can see that he’s as angry as he is devastated.

“He _destroyed_ our parents, Aja. He’s sent so many hunters to kill us, to kill our friends,” he says, trying hard to keep from shouting. “And that’s not even _touching_ the things that he did as the Taylon general.” His words conjure in her mind images of Varvatos shaking and staring down at the floor with empty eyes, whispering something so quietly that neither of them could pick out his words, something that might have resembled a name once. “He’s a _monster_ \- do you really want to be Bonded to someone like that?” Something in Aja snaps, and she slams her hand down on the table. Both Coranda and Krel flinch while Fialkov stands unmoving.

“Of _course_ I don’t! The thought of having to spend the rest of our lives with him makes me sick, but we have an obligation to our home, to our _people!_ ” She raises her voice as she speaks, and Krel shrinks back against her sudden ire. Even their parents seem alarmed by the ferocity of her outburst. “If we continue to avoid cooperating with him, he will use our absence to destroy our very society - our people will continue to _die._ ”

“Aja-” Fialkov barely gets her name out before she raises a hand to silence him.

“I’m not finished,” she snaps, not looking at him. She cannot bear to face him, not after he suggested the vile thing which she now must argue for. “If we bond with him, he gets what he wants - but we are given an opportunity to get what _we_ want as well.” Krel looks away from her, staring down at the floor as he considers her words. She stands up, and slowly begins crossing the room to where he stands. “He may be strong, but so are we - and there are _two_ of us and only one of him.” Reaching out with her primary hands, she cups his face in them and tilts it upward. Her secondary hands slip around his hips, holding him closer - more intimately perhaps than is appropriate. “It won’t be easy, but if we do this we can _save_ Akiridion-5.”

Krel stares up at her, eyes wet with tears still, but she can see that she’s reached him. Part of her wishes that he would protest more, that he would make a scene so that she and their parents both could have a chance to change their minds - but he looks away from her, another tear falling before he lets out a shaky sigh and nods.

“So it shall be,” Fialkov says, and Aja hates her father just a little bit more. When did she grow so _angry_ towards him?  “I will go speak to the general.” _It’s not too late. We can still turn back._ Panic wells up all the way into her throat, and she stares desperately at Krel, wanting him to shout again, to give them a fighting chance.

The door slides open and then closes once more as Fialkov exits, and just like that it is too late.

* * *

_Twenty two delsons until the return._

As Morando steps into the room that they are to share for the remainder of their stay, Aja finds herself offered an opportunity to mull over a trait of his that she had noticed many keltons ago - namely, the enormity of his form and the fact that merely his presence seems to suck all of the spare energy out of the very air. He casts a large shadow as he enters, engulfing the two royals where they stand. His footfalls against the metal floor are softer than she would have expected in this deafening quiet, another thing that differentiates him from Varvatos. She and Krel both watch him carefully, their hands clasped together painfully tight, all four of the general’s eyes taking in the sight of them as his mouth stays set in a firm line. _The moment of truth,_ she thinks to herself, remembering the phrase that Eli had used on more than one occasion.

“Prince,” Morando greets in a low purr as he looks at Krel. She can feel her brother tense up next to her. He turns to her, and as his eyes meet hers she too tenses. “Princess.”

“General,” she greets tersely. Morando’s scowl deepens, and she has to remind herself to be diplomatic. It is even more dangerous now to be rude to him than it had been before, but still she finds herself unable to stop from prodding at him.  
  
“It's king now, as you know,” he says curtly, and Aja presses her mouth into a thin, angry line.  
  
“You’re not really a king yet,” she says in an equally clipped tone, and to her dismay he smirks at her in return.  
  
“Ahh, but perhaps I will be soon, won’t I?” His words send a shiver through her, and she looks away from him in spite of herself. His gaze is too sharp, too cutting. He steps closer, but still keeps his distance. “Shall we, my royals?”  
  
_My royals._  
  
Oh, how she loathes that, coming from him.  
  
Wordlessly, Aja looks to her brother for a long moment, a secret exchange travelling between their glances before she looks back to Morando and nods. He looks at her for an equally long moment, and his face seems to hold much less amusement as he does so. She squeezes Krel’s hand tighter. With movements graceful and terrifying in their level of control, Morando crosses to the table at the end of the room and begins removing plates of armor, arranging them delicately on the surface. His back is turned to them in a gesture that would be stupid were it not so arrogant a challenge. Aja's fingers twitch at her side, and she wishes that she had her serrator with her. _This is a test,_ she thinks to herself, and she continues to stare at him. _He is a warrior, and he is confident that he can hold his own against me should I try anything. If he were not, he would not be so bold._ She senses Krel looking at her, but she does not look away from the general. She does not know if Krel's look will be pleading with her to take the opportunity before them or to go forward with their plan, but she needs to make the decision on her own.  
  
Morando begins to peel his bodysuit from the energy-crafted flesh that makes up the exterior of his body, and as it falls away in sparks of static electricity she can see the glamorous scars that he has kept from keltons of war. _A dangerous man._ He is not a man, of course, but the shoe fits. _Above all else, Princess, you must remember to act with honor._ Varvatos' voice rings in her head, the image of him holding out a hand to her after a sparring session vivid in her memory. _Honor._ It is such a horrible, horrible concept to be held to in such dire circumstances, but it is one of the last things that differentiates her from the likes of Morando.  
  
She tears her gaze away from him and releases Krel’s hands before she crosses to her own table, peeling the pieces of armor that are affixed to her bodysuit and laying them out in the desired ceremonial pattern. It’s funny - in a way that lacks any amusement - how her mother had told her that it would be a long, long time before she had to think about things such as this, but she had taught her the proper way to do it nonetheless. There is a cruel irony to it in hindsight. Aja places the final piece of armor on the table, and squeezes her eyes shut, blinking back moisture. She cannot show weakness here - only strength, and honor.  
  
She can hear Krel moving at his own table, placing piece after piece with greater trepidation than she dare show. It makes her core hurt. Her hand moves up to the top of her bodysuit, and she begins to peel it from her fabricated skin with much less drama than Morando had. He is all power and showmanship where she and Krel are subdued in the way that those confident in their status are, a trait that was instilled in them at a young age. And even so, she feels a funny emotion in her abdomen as she reveals her own fabricated flesh, her own modifications chosen years ago. She glances down at her body, taking in the soft curves of it. She’s outgrown the softness of this form, but she must keep it for now.

As the suit falls away and pools on the ground into a shapeless, viscous liquid as it expels its remaining electricity, Aja bends down and picks it up before placing it in the center of the armor pieces. A terrible shudder runs down her back as she hears that Krel too has finished moving. _I can’t do this._ She thinks the words, and grows frustrated at her own childishness. _There is nothing to fear here. You are stronger than him._ She clenches all four of her fists at her sides for a long, long moment before she turns to face the monster that she and her dear brother are to be bonded to.

The fact that he stands tall and proud and without a shred of self-consciousness makes her feel vulnerable in a way that she had not anticipated. Akiridions are not shy about nudity, but the human influence over the siblings is evident as she feels the urge to cross her arms over her chest. Something catches in her throat, something that she can vaguely identify as the fear that she is trying to pretend is not there. Aja stares at him, unable to tear her gaze away. Those eyes are so cutting, so frightening. He does not look so amused now as he gestures with his hand towards the circle in the center of the room. _There is no more time left._ She looks at Krel, and he looks back at her, also nude as the day he was created. Her sweet, sweet brother - he holds a steady face, but she can see in his eyes that he's as terrified as her. She looks away and begins walking towards the circle.

As she enters it and the buzzing of electricity crackles around her, she braces herself for pain. Krel enters next, and as he does she reaches out and takes his hands in hers. It doesn't hurt - not yet. Tiny bolts hum around their joining, vibrating quickly in anticipation for the arrival of the one who is to be their mate. The Tarrons look to him, watching his approach. He looms large on the outside, his features obscured by the swirling of charged air around them. As a member of a different class of Akiridion, Morando is going to be the sticking point, the being that will make or break the union. As he takes a step forward, both Aja and Krel flinch, bracing themselves for the pain that will surely follow.

The wind whips harder, and as a large hand reaches into the circle to take their own, it explodes out into the rest of the room.


End file.
